As if being/having a lazy butt weren't enough. Last week I had my first eval with the PT. On top of my weak gluteus medius (not medialus unless, you're like, sooo ignorant. Like me five minutes ago) that the doc found, my PT told me my hamstrings, quads, and outside shins (I don't know what that's really called and she only touched it for indication) are also weak and I have very limited range of motion in my hips despite the fact that all my other leg/foot joints are loosey goosey. My muscles are just too tight. Upon hearing this, Craig asked the obvious: "So what DO you run with?"
My adductors of course.
Dude, do not mess with my adductors. I don't know how, but they make me run. Recently they have been found compensating for my hamstrings, glutes, and quads. Yes, my quads. They're not even on the same side of the leg! But here I am after day 3 of supervised PT with sore hip flexors (which are also manly cheating beasts) and adductors. I tell my PT that my legs are cheating, but try as I might I can't get them to stop completely. I wish I could sit down with my overbearing muscles and explain to them that if we're all investing 10 hours a week in exercises and stretches on top of time and co-pays to get into rehab, we need to pull together to get the problem fixed as economically as possible. Unfortunately, muscles don't speak English.
Pssssht. Communist bastards.
I kid of course. I'm not an Speak English or Disappear kinda girl. I just want to teach my muscles that they've been misdelegating the work for too long. Let my hiney work!
Despite the fact I am really bad at what I'm doing, I'm glad someone is watching me lift my butt from the table and roll my ankle from side to side; I really do suck at everything. My weaknesses astound me and force me to question how I haven't ended up with something serious effing up yet, but it guess that's only because I'm only doing exercises on things that aren't up to par. During my eval the whole "holding off on that iron man" thing came up again, and it occurred to me how silly my whole situation was. At that point I'd basically only glanced at my exercises, claiming to not have time to do them every night. But with my race dangled in front of me like a carrot it's so much easier to find the time. And I'm so willing to point out my therapy shortcomings in hopes of improving faster (Me:"Should I be feeling this here?" PT: "Nope. Your core needs some work. Do you ever do anything with it? I think we'll add crunches to your exercises every day from now on." oh, you skanky PT. A triathlete with a weak core? What's the point of living? I am filled with shame.)
If you see me around, tell my ass to get in gear and my adductors to quit bullying my quads. I'm not sure, but they all might speak Dutch.
Or Pig Latin. 'Cause I'm klassy like that.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
"you're brave"... for a complete wussy
My pool closed for 8 whole days starting yesterday. Seeing as I need the pool to both run and swim, this is going to be a serious PT/stretching/bike week, huh? I could go to a different Y for my pool workouts, but the truth is I'm nothing without a Y between home and work. Sloth takes over pretty quickly for me.
I do have a 18-20 yd "lap" pool at my apartment complex though, and that pool stays heated throughout the winter. I opted to hit that instead of driving 20 minutes to the next nearest Y Monday evening to stretch out my sore calves (the race) and ass (the PT). I got there around 6:20, just as the sun was sinking past the buildings.
To get to the pool you go through the little gym on the property, which was chock full of people. I cut through the gym, stripped down to my suit, and put my feet in the empty pool.
It was freezing. Crap.
It wasn't so cold that I couldn't swim, however; I just couldn't hang on the wall the whole time, which was kind of my plan. I dove in and got moving. But try as I might, I couldn't time my flipturns OR shake the feeling some psycho killer was going to drown me. I started freaking out. I knew I was being completely irrational, but I simply couldn't help myself. Who would want to drown me? Besides, there were half a dozen people a mere 15 feet away from me. I was a strong swimmer and could put up a good fight. I'd be fine! I would start swimming again only to start imagining seeing a severed hand or drops of blood drift by me
It was a long 40 minutes thanks to my extremely active imagination.
Finally I'd swum long enough. I hopped out, dried off, and walked to the pool exit gate--where I met my stalker. A cute little stray kitty.
I tried catching him ("you couldn't take him home anyway" said Craig, annoyed because I'd woken him up from a nap. "Yes I could" I insisted. "I could've dropped him off at a shelter tomorrow." Of course, I'd planned on keeping him forever and ever. Oh well.) but to no avail. I gave up, opened the gate, and was immediately startled by a stranger walking to his apartment.
"You're brave" he commented upon seeing me in a swimsuit. I had to laugh...Oh, the irony.
I do have a 18-20 yd "lap" pool at my apartment complex though, and that pool stays heated throughout the winter. I opted to hit that instead of driving 20 minutes to the next nearest Y Monday evening to stretch out my sore calves (the race) and ass (the PT). I got there around 6:20, just as the sun was sinking past the buildings.
To get to the pool you go through the little gym on the property, which was chock full of people. I cut through the gym, stripped down to my suit, and put my feet in the empty pool.
It was freezing. Crap.
It wasn't so cold that I couldn't swim, however; I just couldn't hang on the wall the whole time, which was kind of my plan. I dove in and got moving. But try as I might, I couldn't time my flipturns OR shake the feeling some psycho killer was going to drown me. I started freaking out. I knew I was being completely irrational, but I simply couldn't help myself. Who would want to drown me? Besides, there were half a dozen people a mere 15 feet away from me. I was a strong swimmer and could put up a good fight. I'd be fine! I would start swimming again only to start imagining seeing a severed hand or drops of blood drift by me
It was a long 40 minutes thanks to my extremely active imagination.
Finally I'd swum long enough. I hopped out, dried off, and walked to the pool exit gate--where I met my stalker. A cute little stray kitty.
I tried catching him ("you couldn't take him home anyway" said Craig, annoyed because I'd woken him up from a nap. "Yes I could" I insisted. "I could've dropped him off at a shelter tomorrow." Of course, I'd planned on keeping him forever and ever. Oh well.) but to no avail. I gave up, opened the gate, and was immediately startled by a stranger walking to his apartment.
"You're brave" he commented upon seeing me in a swimsuit. I had to laugh...Oh, the irony.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Mishelek's Austin adventure
I've lived here awhile and have never made it up to Austin. Austin's supposed to be full of hippies and ideal training conditions. Oh, and UT students. While it sounds like the place I'd like, I've been a little put off by how much people love Austin. My opinion of hippies? Rich, unnecessarily smelly, and a little immature. I like liberals, but hippies? Thanks but I already graduated from college. And seriously, how much better could Austin be than Houston? It's in Texas for crying out loud!
Amazing or no, I headed up to my state capital early Saturday morning to get in a 36 mile ride with K (in "the hills" of Texas) and a swim in Barton Springs, a spring/pool that happened to stay around 68 degrees year round and happened to be free in winter. Woo! I love free!
K was late arriving (she was driving from San Antonio so I cut her some slack) and I was early, so I hit a loop on the veloway to get some extra mileage in before she showed up. The veloway is a 3.1 mile track for cyclists and roller bladers, and quite fun to ride. It kicked the crap out of the 1.2 mile picnic loop we have down here in Houston, though our loop has fewer tight turns. Anyway, I decided after one loop it was warm enough for shorts but cool enough to sport my arm warmers. K showed up, got ready, and we were off to ride.
--On the highways of Austin. Wtf? K had gotten our route from someone on the RunTex forums. Apparently this guy was not interested in sharing Austin with anyone else because we were on, like, highways. With cars whizzing by at 70 mph. This in and of itself would be fine because people were much more cautious around us than H-town drivers would've been-- but I don't care how nice a motorist is when a crosswind knocks you into traffic. Hard to avoid smashing into a wayward bike with peace love and happiness, eh?
But the actual route aside, the ride was great. We had a headwind about 55% of the time, a tailwind 20% of the time (though it was a most excellent one), and that sweet crosswind that lured us into cars the rest of the way. I didn't mind the headwind because, well, I'd rather eek out a hill going 5 mph than die on the bumper of a hybrid sedan. But that's just me. Besides, wind is good mental AZ training because it blows...no pun intended. The only bad thing about the ride (besides, as I've said 6 times, the actual route) was that I was so scared of being blown over or losing control of my bike that I never got into aero. My backneck? It doesn't like that. I also forgot to do laundry last week and had to wear my Pearl Izumi gloves, which suck like all things Pearl Izumi (a little brand unloyalty for you). Last season I thought my tri bike was making me lose motor functioning in my left hand, because my trouble started when I bought my new ride, but that's also when I bought new riding gloves. Since I didn't have any trouble last weekend in my trusty Specialized gloves and I was hitting aero pretty regularly I'm pretty sure it's the gloves. Remind me to burn them.
Anyway, after our return we snagged this picture (yes, gratuitous arm warmer shot-- that triangle of shoulder ended up sunburnt by the way)
and hit Barton Springs
where I saw this car and had to laugh:
You can't see very well because I didn't want to get caught taking the picture, but this guy has a 140.6 sticker, a "Ford Ironman Finisher" sticker, a USAT sticker, and a USACF sticker on his car. Where's your FINA sticker Mr. Overzealous Sticker Man?
Anyway, at Barton Springs there were about 3 old guys swimming sans wetsuits, and they made K and I feel like wusses. But K had just gotten her wetsuit the day before and it takes me a few swims to get used to putting mine on so it doesn't hurt my shoulders-- those were our excuses, and we thought they were good ones. We swam/floated for 40 minutes before going to the Austin marathon expo to pick up our packets.
Pre-Race Austin thoughts
We waited in our separate lines for over 30 minutes to pick up our half marathon packets. Why so long? Apparently Austin race directors aren't the most efficient, and this was no exception. Despite the fact that the half marathon sold out and the full didn't, there were equal numbers of packet pickup booths for each race. The marathon side didn't have a single line-- folks just walked right up, got their packet, and skipped away in a hippie-induced haze. Not so for the half. Each packet pickup booth was for 1200 bib numbers (0-1200, 1201-2400, etc), and two borderline incompetent volunteers were at each station. They ran out of small t-shirts, pens, and safety pins (hello? Is this a surprise item? Shouldn't it be one of the easiest things in the world to estimate the number of safety pins that racers will need to put their numbers on their shirts? Geeeez). And to complicate matters just a little more, they ran duplicate race numbers for the half and the full marathon; for example, there were two 4823s on the course. The only difference was the half marathoners had an H in front of their numbers. This caused a small amount of confusion from folks picking up their packets as they often went to the wrong set of booths.
After the wait, I headed to the Polar booth with a friend who needed a new transmitter ("Tough nuggets" they told him. He ended up having to buy a whole new HRM). I was ready to ask what idiot thought my watch was well designed. I spoke to a very ripped but not so intelligent looking rep about my complaints. His very first remark? "Well you can replace that strap with another one, maybe a velcro type strap." Did they sell those? "Oh no, but you can buy them other places." So let's get this straight: there's a problem with your product and your advice is to fix it with someone else's watch strap? Ridiculous. "Well WHY is the strap so large? I'm the biggest triathlete I know" I started in again. He told me it was so that the watch could mount onto a bike. Oh neat. I bought a running model-- not the biking model, which has its very own model number and accessories-- that doesn't fit on my wrist but does fit on my bike. I call b.s. There's a way to make this strap comfy for me while still fitting to the bike mount I'll never have. If not, they could at least have narrowed the band enough so that the plastic thingy could actually hold the excess strap. I gave up with a sigh and resolved to buy a tacky velcro strap.
The expo as a whole I didn't hit, but I did score a free loaf of Oroweat bread. Man, I love their bread-- it's the only kind I buy. And I got a new kind for free! It made my weekend!
Post-expo my friends and I got some Trudy's (good, but over hyped) and I treated myself to a Mexican Martini (also good and even more over hyped). I turned in around 9 PM while the other 4 roomies hit the hot tub. 5 people in a hotel room? With one wench complete with wetsuit and bike? Oh yes. SpringHill Suites-- I've got your number. And I like it.
Amazing or no, I headed up to my state capital early Saturday morning to get in a 36 mile ride with K (in "the hills" of Texas) and a swim in Barton Springs, a spring/pool that happened to stay around 68 degrees year round and happened to be free in winter. Woo! I love free!
K was late arriving (she was driving from San Antonio so I cut her some slack) and I was early, so I hit a loop on the veloway to get some extra mileage in before she showed up. The veloway is a 3.1 mile track for cyclists and roller bladers, and quite fun to ride. It kicked the crap out of the 1.2 mile picnic loop we have down here in Houston, though our loop has fewer tight turns. Anyway, I decided after one loop it was warm enough for shorts but cool enough to sport my arm warmers. K showed up, got ready, and we were off to ride.
--On the highways of Austin. Wtf? K had gotten our route from someone on the RunTex forums. Apparently this guy was not interested in sharing Austin with anyone else because we were on, like, highways. With cars whizzing by at 70 mph. This in and of itself would be fine because people were much more cautious around us than H-town drivers would've been-- but I don't care how nice a motorist is when a crosswind knocks you into traffic. Hard to avoid smashing into a wayward bike with peace love and happiness, eh?
But the actual route aside, the ride was great. We had a headwind about 55% of the time, a tailwind 20% of the time (though it was a most excellent one), and that sweet crosswind that lured us into cars the rest of the way. I didn't mind the headwind because, well, I'd rather eek out a hill going 5 mph than die on the bumper of a hybrid sedan. But that's just me. Besides, wind is good mental AZ training because it blows...no pun intended. The only bad thing about the ride (besides, as I've said 6 times, the actual route) was that I was so scared of being blown over or losing control of my bike that I never got into aero. My backneck? It doesn't like that. I also forgot to do laundry last week and had to wear my Pearl Izumi gloves, which suck like all things Pearl Izumi (a little brand unloyalty for you). Last season I thought my tri bike was making me lose motor functioning in my left hand, because my trouble started when I bought my new ride, but that's also when I bought new riding gloves. Since I didn't have any trouble last weekend in my trusty Specialized gloves and I was hitting aero pretty regularly I'm pretty sure it's the gloves. Remind me to burn them.
Anyway, after our return we snagged this picture (yes, gratuitous arm warmer shot-- that triangle of shoulder ended up sunburnt by the way)
and hit Barton Springs
where I saw this car and had to laugh:
You can't see very well because I didn't want to get caught taking the picture, but this guy has a 140.6 sticker, a "Ford Ironman Finisher" sticker, a USAT sticker, and a USACF sticker on his car. Where's your FINA sticker Mr. Overzealous Sticker Man?
Anyway, at Barton Springs there were about 3 old guys swimming sans wetsuits, and they made K and I feel like wusses. But K had just gotten her wetsuit the day before and it takes me a few swims to get used to putting mine on so it doesn't hurt my shoulders-- those were our excuses, and we thought they were good ones. We swam/floated for 40 minutes before going to the Austin marathon expo to pick up our packets.
Pre-Race Austin thoughts
We waited in our separate lines for over 30 minutes to pick up our half marathon packets. Why so long? Apparently Austin race directors aren't the most efficient, and this was no exception. Despite the fact that the half marathon sold out and the full didn't, there were equal numbers of packet pickup booths for each race. The marathon side didn't have a single line-- folks just walked right up, got their packet, and skipped away in a hippie-induced haze. Not so for the half. Each packet pickup booth was for 1200 bib numbers (0-1200, 1201-2400, etc), and two borderline incompetent volunteers were at each station. They ran out of small t-shirts, pens, and safety pins (hello? Is this a surprise item? Shouldn't it be one of the easiest things in the world to estimate the number of safety pins that racers will need to put their numbers on their shirts? Geeeez). And to complicate matters just a little more, they ran duplicate race numbers for the half and the full marathon; for example, there were two 4823s on the course. The only difference was the half marathoners had an H in front of their numbers. This caused a small amount of confusion from folks picking up their packets as they often went to the wrong set of booths.
After the wait, I headed to the Polar booth with a friend who needed a new transmitter ("Tough nuggets" they told him. He ended up having to buy a whole new HRM). I was ready to ask what idiot thought my watch was well designed. I spoke to a very ripped but not so intelligent looking rep about my complaints. His very first remark? "Well you can replace that strap with another one, maybe a velcro type strap." Did they sell those? "Oh no, but you can buy them other places." So let's get this straight: there's a problem with your product and your advice is to fix it with someone else's watch strap? Ridiculous. "Well WHY is the strap so large? I'm the biggest triathlete I know" I started in again. He told me it was so that the watch could mount onto a bike. Oh neat. I bought a running model-- not the biking model, which has its very own model number and accessories-- that doesn't fit on my wrist but does fit on my bike. I call b.s. There's a way to make this strap comfy for me while still fitting to the bike mount I'll never have. If not, they could at least have narrowed the band enough so that the plastic thingy could actually hold the excess strap. I gave up with a sigh and resolved to buy a tacky velcro strap.
The expo as a whole I didn't hit, but I did score a free loaf of Oroweat bread. Man, I love their bread-- it's the only kind I buy. And I got a new kind for free! It made my weekend!
Post-expo my friends and I got some Trudy's (good, but over hyped) and I treated myself to a Mexican Martini (also good and even more over hyped). I turned in around 9 PM while the other 4 roomies hit the hot tub. 5 people in a hotel room? With one wench complete with wetsuit and bike? Oh yes. SpringHill Suites-- I've got your number. And I like it.
I'll have a double: Austin Half Marathon Race Review
I can't wait til the end. I PRed. Again. Coming into Sunday I had zero expectations for the race. Last weekend I'd run well, but it was on a flat beach. What's more, my foot pod said I only ran 12.9 miles. Could it be I didn't run a 2:02 after all?
Fear not! My calibration of my foot pod is off; the race was a complete half marathon, but I didn't know that when I was fretting about my Austin performance. Sure, Surfside went well, but who runs fast 2 weeks in a row? Besides, the famed downhill Austin course was replaced with a decidedly hillier version in 2007. Considering I'm running in a pool right now, I'm not so much into the hill training. I decided that I wanted to just run a strong negative-split half marathon. 2:11? Sounds like a fine goal time to me.
Until Saturday rolled around. After riding the hills with no soreness I knew I could run the steeper, shorter versions of the run course. I wanted to break 2 hours. And, well, I wanted to beat my friends; the Houston marathon was painful for me and my pride, and we needed some vindication.
We got downtown at 5 bleeping 20 in the bleeping morning. It was freezing, and we dawdled in getting away from the warm car, then in the warm at&t oasis til 6:50. Another reason I was pokey? I hadn't used the facilities yet. I've never run without, well, moving other parts of my insides first, and I didn't want any trouble during the race. E offered me Imodium, but I really believe that you should be able to regulate your body so that you don't need antipoop drugs come race day (unless you drink Mt. Dew during the race-- of course). What was wrong?
Rewind to Friday lunch, when I went to a Brazilian steakhouse. Instead of my 6-8 servings of fruits and veggies at noontime, I had meat on top of meat on top of meat. Holy shit it was good, but it cemented my digestive tract for days--And that's no easy task in my neighborhood. Still, come Sunday morning there was nothing I could do. We got on the bridge at 6:50, turned back toward the Capitol to watch some fireworks, and suddenly were off!
We had started by the 4:30 pace sign-- which was within 5 feet of the 4:15, 4:45, and 5:00 pace signs. Pace setters didn't seem to know their asses from potholes, which doesn't make sense to me. Shouldn't those people be in place before folks line up? Couldn't marks be made on the bridge to indicate where they should stand? Did anyone plan that part of the race at all? Oh sigh. Never mind-- it was so crowded that I don't think it would have helped our case to be in better positioning. Heck, we were passing walkers a mile into the race. What idiot walker starts in the front or middle of the pack? I ditched everyone right away (not that they were far behind me) and focused on passing people. Geez, there were so many! 9:31 first mile, and it wasn't pretty. 9:12. 8:52. 8:57 (I think there was a hill). 4 miles in and I felt fabulous. Mile 5 I got a Hammer gel in, but was shocked when it was cold when entering my mouth. It didn't go down smoothly and my stomach hurt through 6 and 7 (where I was holding my pace at just under 9:03 per mile). I was doing really well, and on track for a sub 2-hr race. But could I hold it?
Just as I passed mile 7 some old dude wearing all black save an American flag bandana passed me. "I've been trying to catch you for 4 miles!" He exclaimed, running off. Now, I don't care how nice of a man he was-- he was old and I wasn't letting him out of my sight. For the next 4 miles, Dennis (I later found out) was within 20 feet of me. And even though he stopped for water more than I did, I couldn't catch the geezer. Bugger!
I got my second gel in at mile 9 at a Pirates of the Caribbean aid station, which I *just* loved. This gel was warm (and freaking delicious! I love you Hammer raspberry!) and went down easy. I continued on. Just before mile 10 the halfers turned off, missing out on a hill--yea! A 5k left and I was nowhere near going over 2 hours. My new goal was to beat 2 hours on the clock. I was pretty sure I'd started around 3 minutes after the gun (which we never heard... not that we were paying attention seeing as they shot off fireworks at the very same time) and could make a 1:57. I didn't bank on two enormous hills. At mile 11-- on the first superhill-- I finally caught up with Dennis again. "I've been trying to catch you for 4 miles!" I said. He seemed surprised but pleased to see me. "Wait up, I need some water!" he said. We both stopped at the aid station, but I left a few steps in front of him. I was on a mission.
Blah, blah, run, run, last mile. I was bookin'. We turned toward the finish past the state capital building, and I was struck by the fact I was running in my state capital. What a strange thought, here in the middle of a race. Oh well. A few minutes later I was racing a huge dude who'd started his kick, but I couldn't keep up. Then I saw the clock: 2:01:36, and I was still far away! I was shocked it'd taken so long to cross the starting line and crushed that I missed my secondary goal. I crossed the mat in 2:02:05 gun time.
And 1:56:32 chip time. Awesome!
Of course, I could have gone faster. I zoned out in mile 5 and mile 8, my first mile was way too slow, and my heart rate never crept past 153 except on the hills and my very last sprint. Nevertheless I ran the race well, negative splitting the bastard by about 90 seconds. I also did well with my nutrition.
Post race I ganked some bananas and granola bars (poor spoils compared to a finisher shirt-- Austin doesn't give them for the half. Is the half significantly cheaper than other 1/2s that get shirts? No. They're just a-holes that way) and met up with my friends, all of whom had had good races. B was 58 seconds behind me but never saw me the whole way, strange because I was wearing yellow. Ah well. We got some Kerbey Lane breakfast, showered, and headed outta town, back to Sunday chores and Monday dread.
You know what? I loved Austin. I really didn't want to but the fact is the place felt like a Texas Cincinnati. I liked the size and the training venues. I liked the hills. Things that did suck were the prevalence of Christian and Spanish radio stations--4+ of each-- and a lack of racial diversity, which I guess isn't too surprising for a Texas mid-sized city. Still, seeing lots and lots of white people always makes me feel uncomfortable, like I'm doing something wrong. That aside, I want to live there. Craig doesn't. But that's a problem for another day, not now while I am still basking in the second race of my life that I'm truly proud of. And not now while my calves are SO sore from riding and running. And not while I'm hoping my PT doesn't notice how very tender my feet are.
Now is a happy time... full of ass-kicking. Hopefully my PR streak lasts through Saturday when I do my last illegal run and try to break 50 in the Rodeo Run. Don't worry, I'll let you know in a ridiculously long and excited post. It's just what I do.
Fear not! My calibration of my foot pod is off; the race was a complete half marathon, but I didn't know that when I was fretting about my Austin performance. Sure, Surfside went well, but who runs fast 2 weeks in a row? Besides, the famed downhill Austin course was replaced with a decidedly hillier version in 2007. Considering I'm running in a pool right now, I'm not so much into the hill training. I decided that I wanted to just run a strong negative-split half marathon. 2:11? Sounds like a fine goal time to me.
Until Saturday rolled around. After riding the hills with no soreness I knew I could run the steeper, shorter versions of the run course. I wanted to break 2 hours. And, well, I wanted to beat my friends; the Houston marathon was painful for me and my pride, and we needed some vindication.
We got downtown at 5 bleeping 20 in the bleeping morning. It was freezing, and we dawdled in getting away from the warm car, then in the warm at&t oasis til 6:50. Another reason I was pokey? I hadn't used the facilities yet. I've never run without, well, moving other parts of my insides first, and I didn't want any trouble during the race. E offered me Imodium, but I really believe that you should be able to regulate your body so that you don't need antipoop drugs come race day (unless you drink Mt. Dew during the race-- of course). What was wrong?
Rewind to Friday lunch, when I went to a Brazilian steakhouse. Instead of my 6-8 servings of fruits and veggies at noontime, I had meat on top of meat on top of meat. Holy shit it was good, but it cemented my digestive tract for days--And that's no easy task in my neighborhood. Still, come Sunday morning there was nothing I could do. We got on the bridge at 6:50, turned back toward the Capitol to watch some fireworks, and suddenly were off!
We had started by the 4:30 pace sign-- which was within 5 feet of the 4:15, 4:45, and 5:00 pace signs. Pace setters didn't seem to know their asses from potholes, which doesn't make sense to me. Shouldn't those people be in place before folks line up? Couldn't marks be made on the bridge to indicate where they should stand? Did anyone plan that part of the race at all? Oh sigh. Never mind-- it was so crowded that I don't think it would have helped our case to be in better positioning. Heck, we were passing walkers a mile into the race. What idiot walker starts in the front or middle of the pack? I ditched everyone right away (not that they were far behind me) and focused on passing people. Geez, there were so many! 9:31 first mile, and it wasn't pretty. 9:12. 8:52. 8:57 (I think there was a hill). 4 miles in and I felt fabulous. Mile 5 I got a Hammer gel in, but was shocked when it was cold when entering my mouth. It didn't go down smoothly and my stomach hurt through 6 and 7 (where I was holding my pace at just under 9:03 per mile). I was doing really well, and on track for a sub 2-hr race. But could I hold it?
Just as I passed mile 7 some old dude wearing all black save an American flag bandana passed me. "I've been trying to catch you for 4 miles!" He exclaimed, running off. Now, I don't care how nice of a man he was-- he was old and I wasn't letting him out of my sight. For the next 4 miles, Dennis (I later found out) was within 20 feet of me. And even though he stopped for water more than I did, I couldn't catch the geezer. Bugger!
I got my second gel in at mile 9 at a Pirates of the Caribbean aid station, which I *just* loved. This gel was warm (and freaking delicious! I love you Hammer raspberry!) and went down easy. I continued on. Just before mile 10 the halfers turned off, missing out on a hill--yea! A 5k left and I was nowhere near going over 2 hours. My new goal was to beat 2 hours on the clock. I was pretty sure I'd started around 3 minutes after the gun (which we never heard... not that we were paying attention seeing as they shot off fireworks at the very same time) and could make a 1:57. I didn't bank on two enormous hills. At mile 11-- on the first superhill-- I finally caught up with Dennis again. "I've been trying to catch you for 4 miles!" I said. He seemed surprised but pleased to see me. "Wait up, I need some water!" he said. We both stopped at the aid station, but I left a few steps in front of him. I was on a mission.
Blah, blah, run, run, last mile. I was bookin'. We turned toward the finish past the state capital building, and I was struck by the fact I was running in my state capital. What a strange thought, here in the middle of a race. Oh well. A few minutes later I was racing a huge dude who'd started his kick, but I couldn't keep up. Then I saw the clock: 2:01:36, and I was still far away! I was shocked it'd taken so long to cross the starting line and crushed that I missed my secondary goal. I crossed the mat in 2:02:05 gun time.
And 1:56:32 chip time. Awesome!
Of course, I could have gone faster. I zoned out in mile 5 and mile 8, my first mile was way too slow, and my heart rate never crept past 153 except on the hills and my very last sprint. Nevertheless I ran the race well, negative splitting the bastard by about 90 seconds. I also did well with my nutrition.
Post race I ganked some bananas and granola bars (poor spoils compared to a finisher shirt-- Austin doesn't give them for the half. Is the half significantly cheaper than other 1/2s that get shirts? No. They're just a-holes that way) and met up with my friends, all of whom had had good races. B was 58 seconds behind me but never saw me the whole way, strange because I was wearing yellow. Ah well. We got some Kerbey Lane breakfast, showered, and headed outta town, back to Sunday chores and Monday dread.
You know what? I loved Austin. I really didn't want to but the fact is the place felt like a Texas Cincinnati. I liked the size and the training venues. I liked the hills. Things that did suck were the prevalence of Christian and Spanish radio stations--4+ of each-- and a lack of racial diversity, which I guess isn't too surprising for a Texas mid-sized city. Still, seeing lots and lots of white people always makes me feel uncomfortable, like I'm doing something wrong. That aside, I want to live there. Craig doesn't. But that's a problem for another day, not now while I am still basking in the second race of my life that I'm truly proud of. And not now while my calves are SO sore from riding and running. And not while I'm hoping my PT doesn't notice how very tender my feet are.
Now is a happy time... full of ass-kicking. Hopefully my PR streak lasts through Saturday when I do my last illegal run and try to break 50 in the Rodeo Run. Don't worry, I'll let you know in a ridiculously long and excited post. It's just what I do.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Good stuff, good stuff
Bear with me kids. Only a few more posts til I get this run outta my system!
A couple really cool things have happened this week, and though it's only Wednesday I'm compelled to share.
1) I went to the HRTC monthly meeting on Monday. The food wasn't the best (pasta with a white sauce and MUSHrooms... barf), but it was a good meeting: Meet the Race Directors meeting. Dave, the revealer of my current crotchal comforts on the bike, hooked me up with some Clif bars and bloks (yesss). I hung out with my tri girls, every one faster and prettier than the next. But most importantly, I won a comp entry into a local race--a duathlon.
I've never done a duathlon, and I fully expect to get my ass kicked. But for $5 worth of raffle tickets I won a $40 race entry into something I've kinda wanted to try, but didn't want to spend the money to get humiliated. Now I get to do it essentially for free! Awesome! I can't decide if I should do the one in May or July, though; May will only be balls hot versus July's freaking balls hot, but I'm not sure I'll be allowed to run yet in May. Maybe I'll hold off on a decision til my next doctor visit next month. Good idea? I think so.
2) Two weeks ago I emailed the Buffalo Wallow guy to explain that I was an A-hole who didn't stay for awards and to tell him how impressed and entertained my friends and I were at the race. Last night I came home to a package with my award! An admittedly crappy medal (again, $11 race) and one of those drawstring bags like the Ford IM bags, only way better: it has nicer material, mesh pockets, Velcro, zippers, and "Buffalo Wallow Cross Country" screened on it. The extra stuff on it will definitely get it used more often than the Ford bag, though the Ford bag looks more waterproof.
3) I found out last night I can almost get my heartrate as high during aquajogging as I can running intervals. The bad: I chafed my underarms on the float belt. Any suggestions on how to avoid this? I want to post on my tri club forum but I don't want to sound a) snooty, b) dramatic, or c) dumb. Do you think bodyglide will hold up for hours in the water?
4) This isn't something awesome, but I had a question: has anyone tried both BodyGlide and Sportslick? Which one do you like better? I'm a Sportslick girl myself, but I've never tried BodyGlide to get a comparison.
Happy V day lovers!
A couple really cool things have happened this week, and though it's only Wednesday I'm compelled to share.
1) I went to the HRTC monthly meeting on Monday. The food wasn't the best (pasta with a white sauce and MUSHrooms... barf), but it was a good meeting: Meet the Race Directors meeting. Dave, the revealer of my current crotchal comforts on the bike, hooked me up with some Clif bars and bloks (yesss). I hung out with my tri girls, every one faster and prettier than the next. But most importantly, I won a comp entry into a local race--a duathlon.
I've never done a duathlon, and I fully expect to get my ass kicked. But for $5 worth of raffle tickets I won a $40 race entry into something I've kinda wanted to try, but didn't want to spend the money to get humiliated. Now I get to do it essentially for free! Awesome! I can't decide if I should do the one in May or July, though; May will only be balls hot versus July's freaking balls hot, but I'm not sure I'll be allowed to run yet in May. Maybe I'll hold off on a decision til my next doctor visit next month. Good idea? I think so.
2) Two weeks ago I emailed the Buffalo Wallow guy to explain that I was an A-hole who didn't stay for awards and to tell him how impressed and entertained my friends and I were at the race. Last night I came home to a package with my award! An admittedly crappy medal (again, $11 race) and one of those drawstring bags like the Ford IM bags, only way better: it has nicer material, mesh pockets, Velcro, zippers, and "Buffalo Wallow Cross Country" screened on it. The extra stuff on it will definitely get it used more often than the Ford bag, though the Ford bag looks more waterproof.
3) I found out last night I can almost get my heartrate as high during aquajogging as I can running intervals. The bad: I chafed my underarms on the float belt. Any suggestions on how to avoid this? I want to post on my tri club forum but I don't want to sound a) snooty, b) dramatic, or c) dumb. Do you think bodyglide will hold up for hours in the water?
4) This isn't something awesome, but I had a question: has anyone tried both BodyGlide and Sportslick? Which one do you like better? I'm a Sportslick girl myself, but I've never tried BodyGlide to get a comparison.
Happy V day lovers!
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Dude, I love and hate this watch: Polar s625x review
I know you don't care about what I think about stuff-- and I don't care. It's my blog, so nah-nah-nah-nah-booboo. Anyway, about two weeks ago my new HRM finally arrived in the mail: the s625x. I chose a Polar HRM for 3 reasons:
1) You can't swim in a Garmin, and I want to
2) Garmin products are gigantic, whereas Polar products are just enormous
3) With quite a bit of finagling you can hook a Polar up to a Mac, something you can't do yet with a Garmin
4) Finagling is a word. To be honest, I'm surprised. Thanks abc check!
I love my heart rate monitor. Initial programming was pretty easy, including the calibration of the foot pod, which I wear on my shoe. The pacing from the shoe isn't 100% accurate (I can't decide why... leave it to me to screw up a one-mile steady run), but it gives me a good ballpark. Besides, if anything the pacing seems to be slower than what I'm actually running and I still can tell when I speed up or slow down, which is the most helpful thing for me. The watch capabilities are also great, which I'm sure you already know because, like, the s625x is sooo last year. It's still taking me some time to get through all the functions, but I'm trying to slowly increase what I can do with the watch instead of trying to learn everything at once and getting frustrated. The how-to as far as programming in the user manual is also spot on, probably because it's really hard to mess up step-by-step directions in static menus.
I also really like the new chest strap-- the T31 thingies I think? The strap is much more flexible/comfortable, and I like how you can take the transmitter off and pop it into a Polar/Adidas sports bra or top. Good thinking guys!
As for connecting to my computer, I had some real fears. But once I sidestepped my lack of computer savvy I had absolutely no problems. How cool!
My complaints are much more interesting. I really hate my new watch. First and foremost, Polar people are straight up idiots. Sure, I'm wearing one of their electronics and I like what it can do. By now you know I'm not a tiny girl-- yet I have the watch on the second smallest hole on the wrist band.
Let's think about this. A large triathlete/runner is using the second smallest band hole. She's wearing a watch made for runners and triathletes, folks not well known for their bulk. What the crap?
What's more, the very long excess end of the wristband hangs down and catches the water when I swim. I tried moving the plastic band holder to the end of the band, but it won't stay because the watch band base is too wide. Not very smart. It's stuff like this that ruins an entire product and frustrates the CRAP outta me. Why bother producing something that isn't the best it can be (Microsoft, of course, aside)? After I send my more important West U warmup email, I'm going to write to Polar to tell them to get their heads out of their butts and fix their darn watch bands so someone with a wrist smaller than 12" around can wear them.
Ahem.
Another thing: I really don't like the physical instructions in the owners manual--for example, the required motion to attach the chest strap to the transmitter. I know this isn't rocket science, but I couldn't get it at first. And it wasn't the kind of thing I wanted to force either since those transmitters don't come cheap, ya know? But reviewing the drawing on how to attach/detach the 2" plastic transmitter from the chest strap was no help; instead of something useful, there was a 2-D picture with cryptic arrows drawn in circles around the unit, and written instructions that were equally incomprehensible. Now, I know engineers are pretty crappy writers. I also understand that consumers, for the most part, have a very low standard for the quality of user manuals, especially for technical stuff. But Polar? Wake up! Every engineer in the entire country takes a Technical Writing class. Every single one. Why? Because they can't write but that doesn't excuse them from poor communication in their future careers. Ten, twenty years ago it would have been okay to get something so poorly written, but not anymore. Here's what I suggest to you: 1) hire engineers-- hey, they can be contracted for such a short job-- to write the user manual in their native languages. Or here's an idea: use focus groups to write instructions out for you before you release your product for sale. Everyday people can get this right. It's not a big job and can't possibly cost much more, but it makes the end product substantially higher quality.
Finally, I also have some problems with the chest strap. It's more flexible. It's more comfortable. Except when it was redesigned, the plastic slide thing that makes the strap longer or shorter hits right under my armpit, and there's a lot more sports bra pressure there than its previous position in the middle of my back. It doesn't make me chafe but it does leave a sensitive and ugly red mark on my skin. A minor complaint to be sure, but it would have been nice if someone had, oh, tried on the strap with some D cups and a sports bra. Is that too much to ask?
One closing thought, something that regularly upsets me. The fitness industry virtually brings me to tears sometimes with the way they toss out woman-unfriendly products. Everyone knows women aren't as active as men and are even less likely to use fitness products like heart rate monitors (someone call me out if either of those things are a lie; I am 100% sure I read the first one last week though I don't feel like digging for a citation; the second is my perception from what's available on the market). I liken women and HRMs to Macs and HRMs. Sure, neither group (chicks or Apples) interacts with HRMs much, but is it because they don't want to or they can't? HRMs aren't sized for women: poor design of the watches and the straps make them very unsavory. Why won't anyone pick up on this and design things for women besides the lowest end products like the F4? Chicks dig attention.
And small stuff.
And a wrist band that won't catch the water when they're swimming.
Why won't anybody listen to us? (tear)
1) You can't swim in a Garmin, and I want to
2) Garmin products are gigantic, whereas Polar products are just enormous
3) With quite a bit of finagling you can hook a Polar up to a Mac, something you can't do yet with a Garmin
4) Finagling is a word. To be honest, I'm surprised. Thanks abc check!
I love my heart rate monitor. Initial programming was pretty easy, including the calibration of the foot pod, which I wear on my shoe. The pacing from the shoe isn't 100% accurate (I can't decide why... leave it to me to screw up a one-mile steady run), but it gives me a good ballpark. Besides, if anything the pacing seems to be slower than what I'm actually running and I still can tell when I speed up or slow down, which is the most helpful thing for me. The watch capabilities are also great, which I'm sure you already know because, like, the s625x is sooo last year. It's still taking me some time to get through all the functions, but I'm trying to slowly increase what I can do with the watch instead of trying to learn everything at once and getting frustrated. The how-to as far as programming in the user manual is also spot on, probably because it's really hard to mess up step-by-step directions in static menus.
I also really like the new chest strap-- the T31 thingies I think? The strap is much more flexible/comfortable, and I like how you can take the transmitter off and pop it into a Polar/Adidas sports bra or top. Good thinking guys!
As for connecting to my computer, I had some real fears. But once I sidestepped my lack of computer savvy I had absolutely no problems. How cool!
My complaints are much more interesting. I really hate my new watch. First and foremost, Polar people are straight up idiots. Sure, I'm wearing one of their electronics and I like what it can do. By now you know I'm not a tiny girl-- yet I have the watch on the second smallest hole on the wrist band.
Let's think about this. A large triathlete/runner is using the second smallest band hole. She's wearing a watch made for runners and triathletes, folks not well known for their bulk. What the crap?
What's more, the very long excess end of the wristband hangs down and catches the water when I swim. I tried moving the plastic band holder to the end of the band, but it won't stay because the watch band base is too wide. Not very smart. It's stuff like this that ruins an entire product and frustrates the CRAP outta me. Why bother producing something that isn't the best it can be (Microsoft, of course, aside)? After I send my more important West U warmup email, I'm going to write to Polar to tell them to get their heads out of their butts and fix their darn watch bands so someone with a wrist smaller than 12" around can wear them.
Ahem.
Another thing: I really don't like the physical instructions in the owners manual--for example, the required motion to attach the chest strap to the transmitter. I know this isn't rocket science, but I couldn't get it at first. And it wasn't the kind of thing I wanted to force either since those transmitters don't come cheap, ya know? But reviewing the drawing on how to attach/detach the 2" plastic transmitter from the chest strap was no help; instead of something useful, there was a 2-D picture with cryptic arrows drawn in circles around the unit, and written instructions that were equally incomprehensible. Now, I know engineers are pretty crappy writers. I also understand that consumers, for the most part, have a very low standard for the quality of user manuals, especially for technical stuff. But Polar? Wake up! Every engineer in the entire country takes a Technical Writing class. Every single one. Why? Because they can't write but that doesn't excuse them from poor communication in their future careers. Ten, twenty years ago it would have been okay to get something so poorly written, but not anymore. Here's what I suggest to you: 1) hire engineers-- hey, they can be contracted for such a short job-- to write the user manual in their native languages. Or here's an idea: use focus groups to write instructions out for you before you release your product for sale. Everyday people can get this right. It's not a big job and can't possibly cost much more, but it makes the end product substantially higher quality.
Finally, I also have some problems with the chest strap. It's more flexible. It's more comfortable. Except when it was redesigned, the plastic slide thing that makes the strap longer or shorter hits right under my armpit, and there's a lot more sports bra pressure there than its previous position in the middle of my back. It doesn't make me chafe but it does leave a sensitive and ugly red mark on my skin. A minor complaint to be sure, but it would have been nice if someone had, oh, tried on the strap with some D cups and a sports bra. Is that too much to ask?
One closing thought, something that regularly upsets me. The fitness industry virtually brings me to tears sometimes with the way they toss out woman-unfriendly products. Everyone knows women aren't as active as men and are even less likely to use fitness products like heart rate monitors (someone call me out if either of those things are a lie; I am 100% sure I read the first one last week though I don't feel like digging for a citation; the second is my perception from what's available on the market). I liken women and HRMs to Macs and HRMs. Sure, neither group (chicks or Apples) interacts with HRMs much, but is it because they don't want to or they can't? HRMs aren't sized for women: poor design of the watches and the straps make them very unsavory. Why won't anyone pick up on this and design things for women besides the lowest end products like the F4? Chicks dig attention.
And small stuff.
And a wrist band that won't catch the water when they're swimming.
Why won't anybody listen to us? (tear)
No wonder my legs are rebelling
I just uploaded and/or entered into iSmartTrain all my workouts since 1/22, when I really started getting into things. I broke down and bought the program after somehow getting my comp and my watch talking after a mere 4 tries/20 minutes (hint: you have to upload the adapter software. What a crazy idea!). Assuming my system doesn't crash I am officially nerded out and ready to go. As I was playing around the program post-updating I took a peek at my totals for the year. And while the total time was too low to be sharing with y'all, I was shocked to find I've run more hours than I've cycled. Incidentally I've run more hours than I've cycled and I've gone spinning, which is absurd. What idiot runs more than she rides? There's no excuse for this! I'm the one making, revising, or skipping my workouts. I intentionally won't drop the money on a coach because I don't believe in them (for me... not for you. Coaches are great; they know stuff, way more stuff than I do. But I don't want some dinky plan or some online person prepping me for a race. I need a very real-- and very expensive-- helper in my life or no helper at all except for George's advice. Besides, I do this sport for the toughness and independence aspects a la Faris Al-Sultan, albeit much much more slowly, and a coach detracts from that).
So it's with a renewed interest in my legs' wellbeing that I'm actually going to obey my doctor (except, of course, for the races). Secretly I was planning on doing the occasional casual run or interval session, but not anymore. I'm married to aquajogging. And my hiney is going to get well acquainted with that Serfas butt cushion on my bike. Oh yes. Most often you get hurt by being unlucky, deformed, or dumb; at least one of those is preventable.
P.S. George, please don't start charging me when I ask you questions. I'll cry.
So it's with a renewed interest in my legs' wellbeing that I'm actually going to obey my doctor (except, of course, for the races). Secretly I was planning on doing the occasional casual run or interval session, but not anymore. I'm married to aquajogging. And my hiney is going to get well acquainted with that Serfas butt cushion on my bike. Oh yes. Most often you get hurt by being unlucky, deformed, or dumb; at least one of those is preventable.
P.S. George, please don't start charging me when I ask you questions. I'll cry.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Shh! Don't tell my doctor: Surfside (Half) Marathon race review
My weekend was blogworthy, though Saturday and Sunday for different reasons. On Saturday, K and I hit the road to Surfside, TX (okay, okay-- Freeport, TX) for a half marathon. Highlights of this marathon:
1) Entry fee is a flat $50 regardless of whether you do the full or half
2) Stone coaster as a participant's gift (I LOVE COASTERS!)
3) Barbecue afterward, Texas style
4) Limited to 500 people
5) Run on the beach
We got there around 7 for the 8:00 race and parked about 40m away from the packet pickup/finish line area. We got our packets (and a yellow dri-fit shirt), I snagged some energy bars, and we headed back to the car to warm our frozen body parts. I hadn't brought tights to run in, thinking "Mishele, it's going to be 50 out in Texas." This thought is not reasonable, yet it's one I continue to formulate despite having lived here for 25 months of my life. There I was, sitting frozen on a beach in 15 mph winds with no damn tights.
Oh well. I changed from my tri tank (that kept riding up on love handles on the ride down) into a red compression top with a long sleeve dri-fit over it [note: I forgot to do laundry for 2 weeks in a row and therefore was down to 1 sports bra, non-ideal running shorts, and well, compression tops]. K let me borrow some gloves someone had left in her car, and in no time we were off to the start. It was blustery, but looking to be a fun time.
Off we went. The crowd ran (jogged?) down the beach with an attitude more like that of ultramarathoners than marathoners, and K and I loved it. For the first mile I ran with her until she started walking-- K runs 9/1s, which for you non-runners is 9 minutes of running and 1 minute of walking. Sounds slow? A good 9/1er or 5/1er can kick marathon ass. But K runs a little slower than me, so I set off on my own pace. After a 10:50 first mile I settled into a 9:36 pace until 2 1/2.
That's when we turned around. Right before the turnaround I was sweating my ass off. Should I take off the long sleeve? It was just such a pain with my hat on. Besides, I was wearing a compression top underneath... was it fair to subject these unsuspecting runners to me in a compression top?
I decided it wasn't. The long sleeve stayed on. And boy was I glad I had some sense of decency because as soon as I turned around I was punched in the face by the wind. For the next 6.55 miles. At first my pace stayed at 9:41. About mile 5 it slowed to 9:47. Had I gone out too hard? Bummer! And I'd taken it so easy the first few miles; my heartrate was still in the mid-150s (aren't I obnoxious now that I have a heart monitor again?). By mile 8 I was struggling to stay around 10:00 pace, and my heart rate hit 162. Where the H was this turnaround?
Just past the mile 9 marker I saw the it. Hooray! Out of the wind! My HR dropped like a rock to 150. I was running 9:19 pace and felt amazing. Mile 10, I had my second gu and shot off like a rocket, picking off the innocent runners in front of me. 9:01 pace. 8:47 pace. 8:29 pace (the pace at which I finally got my HR over 160 again). Mile 12. 8:12 pace. 7:52 pace. Mile 13. The finish!
When I could see the clock I got a little confused. I was expecting to finish around 2:07 due to my rough time in the wind (I had my display only showing the actual time of day, my pace, and my HR because I forgot to get splits til mile 3, and then I missed a few of the mile markers). But there it was, reading 2:02. Go me! I finished in 2:02:32 on my watch, passed the clock on 2:02:36, and somehow got written down as a 2:02:47 (nope! No chips. Just two volunteers with notebooks and stop watches). Since I was out of the 5 foot chute and stretching by 2:02:47 I'm a little peeved that's what they got down, but what're you gonna do? Besides, what's 11 seconds? I'd just significantly PRed. That's what you do when your only independent half marathon you walked 1/3 of it-- but that's another story.
Almost as soon as I collected my finishers towel and the best medal I've gotten in awhile I was cold. K wasn't going to finish til at least 2:24 by my calculations, so basically I was screwed. I couldn't put my gloves back on because I'd used them as tissues, and inside the clubhouse was too hot with all the runners and barbecue hanging out. I tried to stretch out of the wind til about 2:22, when I got impatient and started walking back on the course. After a 200 of painful walking I saw K. She looked great! I ran in with her til she started her kick and I couldn't keep up. She finished in 2:29, beating her goal of 2:30. We got some eats, clothes, and headed back to the city.
This race was phenomenal. I loved running on the beach, which was like running on a trail: hard packed and very forgiving on the knees. I ran awhile with some cool guys, both of whom were doing the full marathon (they got to run another 6.5 down the beach before turning around, which doesn't sound like fun to me). I also saw Greyhound's Coach T, a high school cross country buddy of mine (she only ran a 1:43. Poor thing. She looked cool as ice too, just gliding along the course. I'd really hate her if she weren't nice). Afterward the food was great-- of course.
Crappy things: Well, the timing for one. Wah! 11 seconds! The aide stations, while supplied with well-mixed gatorade endurance and water, were only a single table long; it was very easy to miss them, and they were pretty far apart. The mile markers were also in bad places for some miles, and those would be nice to get splits from (though it's safe to say my second half completely destroyed my first one). There were also no directions to the race site, which I thought was weird and a little frustrating. Other than that I had nary a complaint, and those I do have aren't very heartfelt ones.
Chafe report: Thank god for compression! All clear.
Aftermath: K and I went to pick up our packets for Sunday's ride, then I hit the Y to do some single side lifting and 30 minutes of aquajogging. It didn't suck, though I did have to suffer through the jokes of high school lifeguards. Dear god, was I that annoying when I was a lifeguard? Yes. *shudder*
Sunday I woke up tight but not sore. While running I'd tried to engage my ass ("if you're so big why can't you do anything??") to help my feet; I was 50% successful. Try as I might, my left ass refused to cooperate, but my right one played along. I ended up with a very sore (still) and swollen left foot, but my right was just a little puffy on Sunday. Regardless, the left hurts enough to keep me from running... til next Sunday for the Austin half. Mostly doctor's orders.
Oh, one last thing. I never told you I'm unfat again; I'm back to IM WI weight. Hooray! I think I still have some muscle to put back on but at least I'm on the right track-- which isn't a running track. Sigh.
Edit: Race pictures are up here. There's one good one of me, and you're welcome to practice your voyeur skills and look me up, but I don't know how to post pictures from the internet. I suck. I'm also bib #450. The results are up here... I posted a 5th place of 26 folks in my age group. Whoopee!
1) Entry fee is a flat $50 regardless of whether you do the full or half
2) Stone coaster as a participant's gift (I LOVE COASTERS!)
3) Barbecue afterward, Texas style
4) Limited to 500 people
5) Run on the beach
We got there around 7 for the 8:00 race and parked about 40m away from the packet pickup/finish line area. We got our packets (and a yellow dri-fit shirt), I snagged some energy bars, and we headed back to the car to warm our frozen body parts. I hadn't brought tights to run in, thinking "Mishele, it's going to be 50 out in Texas." This thought is not reasonable, yet it's one I continue to formulate despite having lived here for 25 months of my life. There I was, sitting frozen on a beach in 15 mph winds with no damn tights.
Oh well. I changed from my tri tank (that kept riding up on love handles on the ride down) into a red compression top with a long sleeve dri-fit over it [note: I forgot to do laundry for 2 weeks in a row and therefore was down to 1 sports bra, non-ideal running shorts, and well, compression tops]. K let me borrow some gloves someone had left in her car, and in no time we were off to the start. It was blustery, but looking to be a fun time.
Off we went. The crowd ran (jogged?) down the beach with an attitude more like that of ultramarathoners than marathoners, and K and I loved it. For the first mile I ran with her until she started walking-- K runs 9/1s, which for you non-runners is 9 minutes of running and 1 minute of walking. Sounds slow? A good 9/1er or 5/1er can kick marathon ass. But K runs a little slower than me, so I set off on my own pace. After a 10:50 first mile I settled into a 9:36 pace until 2 1/2.
That's when we turned around. Right before the turnaround I was sweating my ass off. Should I take off the long sleeve? It was just such a pain with my hat on. Besides, I was wearing a compression top underneath... was it fair to subject these unsuspecting runners to me in a compression top?
I decided it wasn't. The long sleeve stayed on. And boy was I glad I had some sense of decency because as soon as I turned around I was punched in the face by the wind. For the next 6.55 miles. At first my pace stayed at 9:41. About mile 5 it slowed to 9:47. Had I gone out too hard? Bummer! And I'd taken it so easy the first few miles; my heartrate was still in the mid-150s (aren't I obnoxious now that I have a heart monitor again?). By mile 8 I was struggling to stay around 10:00 pace, and my heart rate hit 162. Where the H was this turnaround?
Just past the mile 9 marker I saw the it. Hooray! Out of the wind! My HR dropped like a rock to 150. I was running 9:19 pace and felt amazing. Mile 10, I had my second gu and shot off like a rocket, picking off the innocent runners in front of me. 9:01 pace. 8:47 pace. 8:29 pace (the pace at which I finally got my HR over 160 again). Mile 12. 8:12 pace. 7:52 pace. Mile 13. The finish!
When I could see the clock I got a little confused. I was expecting to finish around 2:07 due to my rough time in the wind (I had my display only showing the actual time of day, my pace, and my HR because I forgot to get splits til mile 3, and then I missed a few of the mile markers). But there it was, reading 2:02. Go me! I finished in 2:02:32 on my watch, passed the clock on 2:02:36, and somehow got written down as a 2:02:47 (nope! No chips. Just two volunteers with notebooks and stop watches). Since I was out of the 5 foot chute and stretching by 2:02:47 I'm a little peeved that's what they got down, but what're you gonna do? Besides, what's 11 seconds? I'd just significantly PRed. That's what you do when your only independent half marathon you walked 1/3 of it-- but that's another story.
Almost as soon as I collected my finishers towel and the best medal I've gotten in awhile I was cold. K wasn't going to finish til at least 2:24 by my calculations, so basically I was screwed. I couldn't put my gloves back on because I'd used them as tissues, and inside the clubhouse was too hot with all the runners and barbecue hanging out. I tried to stretch out of the wind til about 2:22, when I got impatient and started walking back on the course. After a 200 of painful walking I saw K. She looked great! I ran in with her til she started her kick and I couldn't keep up. She finished in 2:29, beating her goal of 2:30. We got some eats, clothes, and headed back to the city.
This race was phenomenal. I loved running on the beach, which was like running on a trail: hard packed and very forgiving on the knees. I ran awhile with some cool guys, both of whom were doing the full marathon (they got to run another 6.5 down the beach before turning around, which doesn't sound like fun to me). I also saw Greyhound's Coach T, a high school cross country buddy of mine (she only ran a 1:43. Poor thing. She looked cool as ice too, just gliding along the course. I'd really hate her if she weren't nice). Afterward the food was great-- of course.
Crappy things: Well, the timing for one. Wah! 11 seconds! The aide stations, while supplied with well-mixed gatorade endurance and water, were only a single table long; it was very easy to miss them, and they were pretty far apart. The mile markers were also in bad places for some miles, and those would be nice to get splits from (though it's safe to say my second half completely destroyed my first one). There were also no directions to the race site, which I thought was weird and a little frustrating. Other than that I had nary a complaint, and those I do have aren't very heartfelt ones.
Chafe report: Thank god for compression! All clear.
Aftermath: K and I went to pick up our packets for Sunday's ride, then I hit the Y to do some single side lifting and 30 minutes of aquajogging. It didn't suck, though I did have to suffer through the jokes of high school lifeguards. Dear god, was I that annoying when I was a lifeguard? Yes. *shudder*
Sunday I woke up tight but not sore. While running I'd tried to engage my ass ("if you're so big why can't you do anything??") to help my feet; I was 50% successful. Try as I might, my left ass refused to cooperate, but my right one played along. I ended up with a very sore (still) and swollen left foot, but my right was just a little puffy on Sunday. Regardless, the left hurts enough to keep me from running... til next Sunday for the Austin half. Mostly doctor's orders.
Oh, one last thing. I never told you I'm unfat again; I'm back to IM WI weight. Hooray! I think I still have some muscle to put back on but at least I'm on the right track-- which isn't a running track. Sigh.
Edit: Race pictures are up here. There's one good one of me, and you're welcome to practice your voyeur skills and look me up, but I don't know how to post pictures from the internet. I suck. I'm also bib #450. The results are up here... I posted a 5th place of 26 folks in my age group. Whoopee!
Friday, February 09, 2007
Man down, man down!
No, I didn't fall, though that would be preferred to, oh, being banned from running. It would also probably be a funny story, too. The best I can do on the funny front today is mention that I tooted SO LOUDLY as I left the pool on Wednesday night that I covered my face to stifle my blushing and giggling. You could seriously hear it across the eerily silent pool. Hopefully it scared those new swimmers away so I can hog a lane to myself next time. (just kidding!)
Here's the story. My marathon sucked hemorrhoid hiney, and apparently for no reason. I actually trained for crying out loud! Since that fateful run my feet have been killing me. Any long run makes me feet feel bruised and swollen for about three days afterward, and I personally think that's weird. The pain has been creeping up my feet and I feared I was looking at plantar fascitis soon, though admittedly the pain was in a different spot than the last time that flared up. I opted to get it taken care of when it was a nuisance rather than a training-killer (besides, I could ask about the top of my feet hurting after 20+ milers), but I decided to skip the chiro this time--my friend's dad couldn't fix me up like PT did for my backneck problem two years ago, and last year my trip to the Chiro (Who Shall Remain Nameless because another tri blogger loves 'im) effed up my back in a new and delightfully uncomfortable place. No offense to anyone in the field, but I'm sticking with traditional medicine this go-round. I went to see a guy (Dr. Dude) referred to me by a triathlete I hold in the highest esteem, a fast little French beauty named Stephanie. Not only is she nice, gorgeous, and speaks with an accent (who doesn't like that?) she's supportive of slow folks like me even though she breezed through IM FL last year in 11:22. I could SOO do that in my imagination. Anyway, I felt ridiculous going into the appointment today because I feel fine; my long run (the Surfside half marathon) is tomorrow, so my only running this week was the 7 miles of intervals on Tuesday, and intervals don't particularly bother me because my form is much improved in speed workouts (that's my theory anyway). So today I was expecting Dr. Dude to look at me like I was an idiot (is there a doctor in the world that doesn't do that?) and tell me to get orthodics, the cheapest and easiest band-aid for my pain, pay him $29384, and quit wasting his time.
Fortunately for my feet and unfortunately for my 4:40 IM marathon dream, he didn't do that. My gait is a mess. My weight is funny on my feet. My gluteus medialus (I think... not my maximus, which is a workhorse, or my minimus, which wasn't mentioned) is a weenie POS. My hamstrings are tight. My Achilles are so tight and inflamed he thinks I might have tears in them. Both my IT bands are in bad shape, something I was more than willing to dismiss.
"Oh they're always like that."
"This doesn't concern you?"
"Not really--I just ice my knees and take ibuprofen when I go to sleep that night. It's only my right one anyway."
[Dr. Dude moves my leg and touches my left IT band]
"Okay, maybe it is both."
[Dr. Dude nods in victory. I sigh in defeat.]
Keep in mind I feel fine. He suggested I get a gait analysis, start PT, and quit running.
Completely.
"That's fine next week {this is a lie since I fully intend on running the Austin half next weekend because it's already paid for. Same thing for the 10k the next weekend where I was going to destroy the small company chick 25-29s along with my previous 50:03 PR}, but I'm running a half marathon tomorrow. I was going to run it slowly and it's on the beach. Is that okay?"
[You're-an-idiot look shot at me] "Not really. You're going to get worse the more you run on it. But it's your choice."
Which I translated to mean: let's run. Slowly. The long and the short of it is I run races I pay for. I'm not dropping $100 just for my "health," especially when all I'm doing is bruising my feet. Besides, I'll try very hard to keep my form clean.
Now that racing has been brought up, how important was this ironman? he wondered aloud. Because 4 endurance races in 19 months was a lot on my body, not even considering the marathons. {Good thing I didn't mention that I wanted to do a 50 miler this fall!}
No Arizona? Out of the question. I conned K into doing IM AZ with the understanding that we'd be out there together. I'm already signed up for the Janus Charity Challenge. My hotel room is booked. I've been lifting this off season. I've really been running--I'm way ahead of any other year! This is my last ironman til After Law School, my last opportunity to break 13 hours this side of 30, my only chance at redemption for Wisconsin. So no, I won't be missing this ironman if I have the crawl the thing. It's a little important to me.
My prognosis is good though. Apparently I'm with a tough therapist who will whip my gluteus medialus in shape if it kills me. I can elliptical, do step ups* ("Oh, step-ups are wonderful. Yes, definitely keep doing those"), lift, bike, swim all I want--just no running. Oh, and I can aqua jog. I can do aqua jog intervals. I can do aqua jog long runs. I can work on my aqua jog form. I can try aqua jog drowning myself in self-pity and boredom. Lucky me! But in the end--possibly even by April 15th--I will be a balanced, faster runner. May visions of a healthy stride and personal bests stay with me when I'm in the deep end of the Post Oak Y... instead of those kill-the-lifeguard-because-this-is-obviously-all-his-fault thoughts. Because, come on, the Y is a place to promote Judeo-Christian principles, not homicide.
I guess I should also add this is a great opportunity to focus on my bike leg and become all the cyclist I can be, right? Just wanted to throw that out there. I see the silver lining, but positive posts? They're not my thing.
*Just a little shout-out to GYGO for suggesting adding step ups to my training. I wouldn't have considered it and now it's going to be an integral part of my therapy and training. Woo!
Here's the story. My marathon sucked hemorrhoid hiney, and apparently for no reason. I actually trained for crying out loud! Since that fateful run my feet have been killing me. Any long run makes me feet feel bruised and swollen for about three days afterward, and I personally think that's weird. The pain has been creeping up my feet and I feared I was looking at plantar fascitis soon, though admittedly the pain was in a different spot than the last time that flared up. I opted to get it taken care of when it was a nuisance rather than a training-killer (besides, I could ask about the top of my feet hurting after 20+ milers), but I decided to skip the chiro this time--my friend's dad couldn't fix me up like PT did for my backneck problem two years ago, and last year my trip to the Chiro (Who Shall Remain Nameless because another tri blogger loves 'im) effed up my back in a new and delightfully uncomfortable place. No offense to anyone in the field, but I'm sticking with traditional medicine this go-round. I went to see a guy (Dr. Dude) referred to me by a triathlete I hold in the highest esteem, a fast little French beauty named Stephanie. Not only is she nice, gorgeous, and speaks with an accent (who doesn't like that?) she's supportive of slow folks like me even though she breezed through IM FL last year in 11:22. I could SOO do that in my imagination. Anyway, I felt ridiculous going into the appointment today because I feel fine; my long run (the Surfside half marathon) is tomorrow, so my only running this week was the 7 miles of intervals on Tuesday, and intervals don't particularly bother me because my form is much improved in speed workouts (that's my theory anyway). So today I was expecting Dr. Dude to look at me like I was an idiot (is there a doctor in the world that doesn't do that?) and tell me to get orthodics, the cheapest and easiest band-aid for my pain, pay him $29384, and quit wasting his time.
Fortunately for my feet and unfortunately for my 4:40 IM marathon dream, he didn't do that. My gait is a mess. My weight is funny on my feet. My gluteus medialus (I think... not my maximus, which is a workhorse, or my minimus, which wasn't mentioned) is a weenie POS. My hamstrings are tight. My Achilles are so tight and inflamed he thinks I might have tears in them. Both my IT bands are in bad shape, something I was more than willing to dismiss.
"Oh they're always like that."
"This doesn't concern you?"
"Not really--I just ice my knees and take ibuprofen when I go to sleep that night. It's only my right one anyway."
[Dr. Dude moves my leg and touches my left IT band]
"Okay, maybe it is both."
[Dr. Dude nods in victory. I sigh in defeat.]
Keep in mind I feel fine. He suggested I get a gait analysis, start PT, and quit running.
Completely.
"That's fine next week {this is a lie since I fully intend on running the Austin half next weekend because it's already paid for. Same thing for the 10k the next weekend where I was going to destroy the small company chick 25-29s along with my previous 50:03 PR}, but I'm running a half marathon tomorrow. I was going to run it slowly and it's on the beach. Is that okay?"
[You're-an-idiot look shot at me] "Not really. You're going to get worse the more you run on it. But it's your choice."
Which I translated to mean: let's run. Slowly. The long and the short of it is I run races I pay for. I'm not dropping $100 just for my "health," especially when all I'm doing is bruising my feet. Besides, I'll try very hard to keep my form clean.
Now that racing has been brought up, how important was this ironman? he wondered aloud. Because 4 endurance races in 19 months was a lot on my body, not even considering the marathons. {Good thing I didn't mention that I wanted to do a 50 miler this fall!}
No Arizona? Out of the question. I conned K into doing IM AZ with the understanding that we'd be out there together. I'm already signed up for the Janus Charity Challenge. My hotel room is booked. I've been lifting this off season. I've really been running--I'm way ahead of any other year! This is my last ironman til After Law School, my last opportunity to break 13 hours this side of 30, my only chance at redemption for Wisconsin. So no, I won't be missing this ironman if I have the crawl the thing. It's a little important to me.
My prognosis is good though. Apparently I'm with a tough therapist who will whip my gluteus medialus in shape if it kills me. I can elliptical, do step ups* ("Oh, step-ups are wonderful. Yes, definitely keep doing those"), lift, bike, swim all I want--just no running. Oh, and I can aqua jog. I can do aqua jog intervals. I can do aqua jog long runs. I can work on my aqua jog form. I can try aqua jog drowning myself in self-pity and boredom. Lucky me! But in the end--possibly even by April 15th--I will be a balanced, faster runner. May visions of a healthy stride and personal bests stay with me when I'm in the deep end of the Post Oak Y... instead of those kill-the-lifeguard-because-this-is-obviously-all-his-fault thoughts. Because, come on, the Y is a place to promote Judeo-Christian principles, not homicide.
I guess I should also add this is a great opportunity to focus on my bike leg and become all the cyclist I can be, right? Just wanted to throw that out there. I see the silver lining, but positive posts? They're not my thing.
*Just a little shout-out to GYGO for suggesting adding step ups to my training. I wouldn't have considered it and now it's going to be an integral part of my therapy and training. Woo!
Race review: Buffalo Wallow 6k
I’d better get this race review off my chest before I’m two behind, huh?
Last Saturday I dragged B and E, master of the marathon and 50k running partner, down to the Buffalo Wallow 6k. For $11 we got to run a chip-timed event on the 2003 collegiate XC championship course. There were awards 3 deep but we knew beforehand we stood no chance of getting them. Before I saw the course, my goal was initially to break 35:00. Then it was to break 34:00. Then it was to run 8:30 miles (not too hard for me on a track) to end up under 32:00. E and I drove down in my stinky truck, parked with almost an hour to race time, and headed to the course.
It looked familiar. It was the last place I’d done hill training; one week I did the whole workout and nearly puked and was thankful that the second time I saw those hills I was tapering for Wisconsin and therefore got to cut out early. These were serious hills. Sure, they weren’t long, but they were steep. And muddy.
I changed my goal to back to under 35:00.
E and I walked the course while she made fun of the layout; the course was marked on either side with orange flags, something I considered adequate since XC races are often marked with cones, flags, or spray paint. The race consisted of 3 2k loops with about 4 very steep hills and one gradual one. As we finished walking the course, B showed up. He too made fun of the course (hello? Didn’t anyone run cross country at any point in middle school or high school? Didn’t anyone go to at least one race in grade school or college? Geez.) and expressed surprise that we were getting chip timed. To be honest I was too; I’d missed that part on the race description.
Anyway, after a few mins of stretching and putting on our chips (“Where are the plastic ties to hold the chip on? Ohmygosh I have to untie my shoes to put it on?”) It was time for the Open race. I was surprised when there were only about 40 people there because there had been a lot more the year before. Oh well. The gun went off and so did those crazy runners! Through the mud, up a hill, down a hill, up a hill and whew! I was pooped. Only 30+ more minutes! B and I were pooped within the first quarter of the first loop. We chatted for a few minutes, and then he ran off to chase some skank who’d just passed me. I never caught him again and he beat me by just over a minute.
With B and the skank gone so quickly, I settled into what I thought was a quick pace. I had my new HRM on (to be reviewed later!) but didn’t have the foot pod calibrated for my pace yet so I couldn’t gauge my speed with the hills and mud. I wasn’t feeling great and cursed myself for not warming up. How many times do I have to learn this lesson? Sure, an IM has a built-in warmup of a swim, but a running race doesn’t. By the end of the first loop (11:24 back to the start line) I was sucking wind. Get my lap time, up a hill, down a hill, up a hill, check heart rate. 165. Not too bad. I continued on my way and got passed by a frail looking man with bad form and Bill, a thicker 30-34 yr old in a marathon finisher shirt. I tried to keep up with them but failed. This race wasn’t fun at all! I resolved that I had to pass at least one person in the second half of the race--it didn’t matter if it was someone with a broken leg or an 8 year old--it just had to be someone.
75% through my second lap I saw my track coach sporting a HRTC sweatshirt. “You look like you’re having fun, girl” he commented cheerily. No I didn’t. “Welcome to cross country.” I don’t know if it was having sufficiently warmed up, wanting to impress my coach, or realizing I only had one lap, but I kicked it in gear. By the end of the second lap (11:47) I had passed frail man and was breathing down Bill’s neck. Bill and I joked back and forth about how much we sucked through most of the third loop, but on the last hill I destroyed Bill and never looked back. It was all downhill from there, just a few minutes from the finish. I’d also passed another man and another boy in the third lap and had another boy in my sights. Roar!
It was all well and good til we saw the finish line. Bill was about 4 yards behind me when he started sprinting the last 300m in, passing me and my new target. I tried to sprint but couldn’t... I was looking at a pukefest if I sped up at all, and while that’s always a sign of a well-fought battle, I wasn’t inspired to prove my effort. I came in at 33:34 (8 seconds behind Bill! If you can kick like that you’re just not racing hard enough), a decent effort and just over 9:00 pace. Considering the hills and my lack of spikes, I was thrilled.
I didn’t snap any pictures. Sorry. Here are some stolen one from 2003 though (it wasn’t that muddy last Saturday):
The first hill:
No, my ass doesn't look like this. But the hill did!
These pictures snagged at http://www.fast-women.com/photos/usaxc03/index.html.
Afterward there was quite the surprise for me. Bottled water--cool. Bananas, oranges--better. Clif bars--superb. Kolaches--holy shit this is the best $11 I ever spent. B and I waited at the finish for E, who’s not as much into the speed running... especially considering she ran six miles before I picked her up. Why I’ll never understand. We ate, talked about how great of a time we had, and left after the Masters race began and before the awards ceremony.
So you can imagine my surprise when I found out I came in third. Sure, there were only 4 women in my age group, but there are also all those invisible entries who never even got out to the race. I’m happy. Besides, it was a great race, very cheap, and super fun. Hills are good for me, right?
Afterward I dropped E off and hit the Y for a power lifting session, my first one. It didn’t go well considering I pulled a muscle in my neck doing some back/tricep machine. I don’t care if I’m boring my acclimatized muscles--I’m sticking to my normal routine of lifting Monday and Wednesday and doing single side exercises on the weekend! After lifting I ran out to Memorial, did a loop, and ran back to the Y to give me about 14 miles for the day. Not too shabby. After peeking in the pool to look for K, I decided to go home and take a nap.
Funny story about my run. Saturday was the second time I used my HRM. As I left the Y, my HR crept up from 144 to 150, and I decided I’d stay there the entire run. Sometimes I ran faster. I stopped at red lights. I got water. Never ever did my HR move from 150. “Wow my ticker’s a consistent mofo” I thought. But as I headed home I got mad. I was pooped! This was way harder than it was when I started, and my HR should reflect that. I started doing sprints between telephone poles (bad idea). 150 HRM. This blasted thing doesn’t work!!
Then I realized I had it on avg hr the whole time. I clicked it over and my heart was chugging along at 157--no, now 156--like I’d expect from a sprint that wasn’t very sprinty. I’m an idiot.
Next stop: Surfside half marathon!
Last Saturday I dragged B and E, master of the marathon and 50k running partner, down to the Buffalo Wallow 6k. For $11 we got to run a chip-timed event on the 2003 collegiate XC championship course. There were awards 3 deep but we knew beforehand we stood no chance of getting them. Before I saw the course, my goal was initially to break 35:00. Then it was to break 34:00. Then it was to run 8:30 miles (not too hard for me on a track) to end up under 32:00. E and I drove down in my stinky truck, parked with almost an hour to race time, and headed to the course.
It looked familiar. It was the last place I’d done hill training; one week I did the whole workout and nearly puked and was thankful that the second time I saw those hills I was tapering for Wisconsin and therefore got to cut out early. These were serious hills. Sure, they weren’t long, but they were steep. And muddy.
I changed my goal to back to under 35:00.
E and I walked the course while she made fun of the layout; the course was marked on either side with orange flags, something I considered adequate since XC races are often marked with cones, flags, or spray paint. The race consisted of 3 2k loops with about 4 very steep hills and one gradual one. As we finished walking the course, B showed up. He too made fun of the course (hello? Didn’t anyone run cross country at any point in middle school or high school? Didn’t anyone go to at least one race in grade school or college? Geez.) and expressed surprise that we were getting chip timed. To be honest I was too; I’d missed that part on the race description.
Anyway, after a few mins of stretching and putting on our chips (“Where are the plastic ties to hold the chip on? Ohmygosh I have to untie my shoes to put it on?”) It was time for the Open race. I was surprised when there were only about 40 people there because there had been a lot more the year before. Oh well. The gun went off and so did those crazy runners! Through the mud, up a hill, down a hill, up a hill and whew! I was pooped. Only 30+ more minutes! B and I were pooped within the first quarter of the first loop. We chatted for a few minutes, and then he ran off to chase some skank who’d just passed me. I never caught him again and he beat me by just over a minute.
With B and the skank gone so quickly, I settled into what I thought was a quick pace. I had my new HRM on (to be reviewed later!) but didn’t have the foot pod calibrated for my pace yet so I couldn’t gauge my speed with the hills and mud. I wasn’t feeling great and cursed myself for not warming up. How many times do I have to learn this lesson? Sure, an IM has a built-in warmup of a swim, but a running race doesn’t. By the end of the first loop (11:24 back to the start line) I was sucking wind. Get my lap time, up a hill, down a hill, up a hill, check heart rate. 165. Not too bad. I continued on my way and got passed by a frail looking man with bad form and Bill, a thicker 30-34 yr old in a marathon finisher shirt. I tried to keep up with them but failed. This race wasn’t fun at all! I resolved that I had to pass at least one person in the second half of the race--it didn’t matter if it was someone with a broken leg or an 8 year old--it just had to be someone.
75% through my second lap I saw my track coach sporting a HRTC sweatshirt. “You look like you’re having fun, girl” he commented cheerily. No I didn’t. “Welcome to cross country.” I don’t know if it was having sufficiently warmed up, wanting to impress my coach, or realizing I only had one lap, but I kicked it in gear. By the end of the second lap (11:47) I had passed frail man and was breathing down Bill’s neck. Bill and I joked back and forth about how much we sucked through most of the third loop, but on the last hill I destroyed Bill and never looked back. It was all downhill from there, just a few minutes from the finish. I’d also passed another man and another boy in the third lap and had another boy in my sights. Roar!
It was all well and good til we saw the finish line. Bill was about 4 yards behind me when he started sprinting the last 300m in, passing me and my new target. I tried to sprint but couldn’t... I was looking at a pukefest if I sped up at all, and while that’s always a sign of a well-fought battle, I wasn’t inspired to prove my effort. I came in at 33:34 (8 seconds behind Bill! If you can kick like that you’re just not racing hard enough), a decent effort and just over 9:00 pace. Considering the hills and my lack of spikes, I was thrilled.
I didn’t snap any pictures. Sorry. Here are some stolen one from 2003 though (it wasn’t that muddy last Saturday):
The first hill:
No, my ass doesn't look like this. But the hill did!
These pictures snagged at http://www.fast-women.com/photos/usaxc03/index.html.
Afterward there was quite the surprise for me. Bottled water--cool. Bananas, oranges--better. Clif bars--superb. Kolaches--holy shit this is the best $11 I ever spent. B and I waited at the finish for E, who’s not as much into the speed running... especially considering she ran six miles before I picked her up. Why I’ll never understand. We ate, talked about how great of a time we had, and left after the Masters race began and before the awards ceremony.
So you can imagine my surprise when I found out I came in third. Sure, there were only 4 women in my age group, but there are also all those invisible entries who never even got out to the race. I’m happy. Besides, it was a great race, very cheap, and super fun. Hills are good for me, right?
Afterward I dropped E off and hit the Y for a power lifting session, my first one. It didn’t go well considering I pulled a muscle in my neck doing some back/tricep machine. I don’t care if I’m boring my acclimatized muscles--I’m sticking to my normal routine of lifting Monday and Wednesday and doing single side exercises on the weekend! After lifting I ran out to Memorial, did a loop, and ran back to the Y to give me about 14 miles for the day. Not too shabby. After peeking in the pool to look for K, I decided to go home and take a nap.
Funny story about my run. Saturday was the second time I used my HRM. As I left the Y, my HR crept up from 144 to 150, and I decided I’d stay there the entire run. Sometimes I ran faster. I stopped at red lights. I got water. Never ever did my HR move from 150. “Wow my ticker’s a consistent mofo” I thought. But as I headed home I got mad. I was pooped! This was way harder than it was when I started, and my HR should reflect that. I started doing sprints between telephone poles (bad idea). 150 HRM. This blasted thing doesn’t work!!
Then I realized I had it on avg hr the whole time. I clicked it over and my heart was chugging along at 157--no, now 156--like I’d expect from a sprint that wasn’t very sprinty. I’m an idiot.
Next stop: Surfside half marathon!
Thursday, February 01, 2007
A nightmare
Last night I fell asleep thinking about my IM AZ marathon splits. Should I go out easier than last year? Could I really pull off a 4:40 marathon? It seemed doable on paper, especially since I'm about 7 miles ahead of myself from this time last year in terms of my long runs. Yes, I could do this...
I was on the run of some ironman somewhere. The Littlest Hoebag (TLH), my college roommate, and another friend had decided to race with me. I'd had a spectacular swim (1:03) and a decent bike for me (6:53). All I needed was a sub-5 hour marathon to break my goal time of 13 hours. It was all happening.
Around mile 16 I fell apart. TLH and this mystery friend forged ahead without me and I struggled to finish my second of three laps (Apparently this course was similar to the Great Floridian, which has an out-and-back before running three loops.) As I reached the beginning of this third lap at mile 20 my marathon time was 4:52. I had to be on my third lap by 5 hours even, so things were looking good--until I reached some volunteer at the third loop start. "Sorry" he sighed. "You missed the cutoff time. I'm afraid you can't continue." I was one livid little girl--this lazy S.O.B. just didn't want to volunteer and that's why he was making me quit 8 minutes before I had to(You get to know these things when it's your dream. Did I mention said volunteer looked a lot like Topher Grace?). Indeed, a group of three others had taken him at his word and walked off the course (though they didn't seem too upset). After fighting for 3 minutes with this guy he finally let me through, and I got through the loop in under an hour to finish in 13:43. As I went through the finishers area (which was kind of like a house party with lots of models in bikinis... crazy. It also had two full size pools--like Keating Natatorium set up for short course if you're a Cinci swimmer), I found an official to lay into about this crappy volunteer. He listened attentively then said, "Well he let you finish, didn't he?" Roar! I was furious.
I woke up sweaty with a sour stomach. How awful!
Interestingly enough, in real life some folks were also turned away after finishing the bike leg of the Great Floridian in 2005 (I think it was the total bike cutoff time, not the cutoff for the second loop. Since I wasn't stopped I'm not sure). We'd started 30 minutes late because the race officials refused to start with about 3 parked cars in the parking lot that we biked into and out of. After waiting around with their thumbs up their asses, they finally let us start. The cars never moved the entire race. Anyway, the city of Clermont refused to extend the road closures 30 minutes to give the racers the same elapsed time cutoffs, and as folks came in from the bike they were told they could not continue. What sucks is they had the time wrong by about 15 minutes (I was perilously close to not being allowed to continue though I'd beaten the original elapsed time cutoff by almost an hour. Good thing that didn't happen to me or someone would have lost his eyeballs.) AND once off the bike there was no danger to the racers since we were running on pretty desolate streets.
Man that race sucked. They ran out of water, volunteers abandoned their posts (and took all the nutrition and cups with them), and much of the run course was dark. But hey, at least I had exactly 8 fewer flats than this guy, right? Besides, I was the 2005 USAT national long distance runner-up for the 19-24 chicks. There's a silver lining.
Speaking of ironmen, this morning some BMW was being impatient behind me, switching lanes and driving aggressively. As he passed me I noticed he had a "140.6" sticker on his car.
If you have one of these on your vehicle, you might consider scraping it off. Why?
1) No one knows what the heck it stands for,
2) If they do know there's a 60% chance they're not impressed because they've done it too, and
3) Can you think of a more pretentious way to announce your ironmanliness? Oh please. If you must, stick the free "FORD IRONMAN FINISHER" sticker--or even an m-dot!-- on your bumper and move on with life. I don't want to detract from the greatness of the IM accomplishment, but you gotta be careful with the presentation: after all, isn't it bad enough you're sporting a nice butt, toned (and shaved?) legs, and killer abs? Enough already!
I apologize if you're sporting the 140.6, but that doesn't stop my disliking them. How 'bout an "I brake for bikers" or "Share the Road" bumper sticker instead?
I was on the run of some ironman somewhere. The Littlest Hoebag (TLH), my college roommate, and another friend had decided to race with me. I'd had a spectacular swim (1:03) and a decent bike for me (6:53). All I needed was a sub-5 hour marathon to break my goal time of 13 hours. It was all happening.
Around mile 16 I fell apart. TLH and this mystery friend forged ahead without me and I struggled to finish my second of three laps (Apparently this course was similar to the Great Floridian, which has an out-and-back before running three loops.) As I reached the beginning of this third lap at mile 20 my marathon time was 4:52. I had to be on my third lap by 5 hours even, so things were looking good--until I reached some volunteer at the third loop start. "Sorry" he sighed. "You missed the cutoff time. I'm afraid you can't continue." I was one livid little girl--this lazy S.O.B. just didn't want to volunteer and that's why he was making me quit 8 minutes before I had to(You get to know these things when it's your dream. Did I mention said volunteer looked a lot like Topher Grace?). Indeed, a group of three others had taken him at his word and walked off the course (though they didn't seem too upset). After fighting for 3 minutes with this guy he finally let me through, and I got through the loop in under an hour to finish in 13:43. As I went through the finishers area (which was kind of like a house party with lots of models in bikinis... crazy. It also had two full size pools--like Keating Natatorium set up for short course if you're a Cinci swimmer), I found an official to lay into about this crappy volunteer. He listened attentively then said, "Well he let you finish, didn't he?" Roar! I was furious.
I woke up sweaty with a sour stomach. How awful!
Interestingly enough, in real life some folks were also turned away after finishing the bike leg of the Great Floridian in 2005 (I think it was the total bike cutoff time, not the cutoff for the second loop. Since I wasn't stopped I'm not sure). We'd started 30 minutes late because the race officials refused to start with about 3 parked cars in the parking lot that we biked into and out of. After waiting around with their thumbs up their asses, they finally let us start. The cars never moved the entire race. Anyway, the city of Clermont refused to extend the road closures 30 minutes to give the racers the same elapsed time cutoffs, and as folks came in from the bike they were told they could not continue. What sucks is they had the time wrong by about 15 minutes (I was perilously close to not being allowed to continue though I'd beaten the original elapsed time cutoff by almost an hour. Good thing that didn't happen to me or someone would have lost his eyeballs.) AND once off the bike there was no danger to the racers since we were running on pretty desolate streets.
Man that race sucked. They ran out of water, volunteers abandoned their posts (and took all the nutrition and cups with them), and much of the run course was dark. But hey, at least I had exactly 8 fewer flats than this guy, right? Besides, I was the 2005 USAT national long distance runner-up for the 19-24 chicks. There's a silver lining.
Speaking of ironmen, this morning some BMW was being impatient behind me, switching lanes and driving aggressively. As he passed me I noticed he had a "140.6" sticker on his car.
If you have one of these on your vehicle, you might consider scraping it off. Why?
1) No one knows what the heck it stands for,
2) If they do know there's a 60% chance they're not impressed because they've done it too, and
3) Can you think of a more pretentious way to announce your ironmanliness? Oh please. If you must, stick the free "FORD IRONMAN FINISHER" sticker--or even an m-dot!-- on your bumper and move on with life. I don't want to detract from the greatness of the IM accomplishment, but you gotta be careful with the presentation: after all, isn't it bad enough you're sporting a nice butt, toned (and shaved?) legs, and killer abs? Enough already!
I apologize if you're sporting the 140.6, but that doesn't stop my disliking them. How 'bout an "I brake for bikers" or "Share the Road" bumper sticker instead?
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